


It's a fashion with a gun, my love

by the_judgmentalist



Category: I Care a Lot - Fandom
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:08:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29615460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_judgmentalist/pseuds/the_judgmentalist
Summary: Fran wasn't always so settled. Back when she was Frankie, stalking the streets as a private investigator, she never dreamed of a house, a partner, a full-time job with benefits. It was just her dingy apartment, loneliness, a living she had to scrape together. And she liked it like that. Nothing tying her down, nobody to please. Just her, her beater car, a nice camera, and a few contacts at the police station – that's all she needed. She spent her days tracking down cheating husbands and the occasional runaway teen.That was all PM – pre-Marla.
Relationships: Marla Grayson/Fran
Comments: 13
Kudos: 242





	It's a fashion with a gun, my love

Fran wasn't always so settled. Back when she was Frankie, stalking the streets as a private investigator, she never dreamed of a house, a partner, a full-time job with benefits. It was just her dingy apartment, loneliness, a living she had to scrape together. And she liked it like that. Nothing tying her down, nobody to please. Just her, her beater car, a nice camera, and a few contacts at the police station – that's all she needed. She spent her days tracking down cheating husbands and the occasional runaway teen.

That was all PM – pre-Marla.

It started with a new job. A man came into her office – really just her living room – and asked her to track down a “bitch with a bob,” a woman named Marla Grayson - or so he thought, anyway - who had supposedly snatched up his mother and sequestered her in a care facility against her will. What the man wanted to do to this woman, Fran wasn't sure. He just wanted to know where she was, how she operated, if she was doing this to anyone else. Fran felt dubious, but took the job anyway, needing the money and glad to tail someone other than a philandering spouse for once. 

It didn't take long to find the woman. Fran, as she always did on a case, had scoured court documents and found Marla on the schedule for a hearing on a Tuesday in June. The day came around and Fran was sat outside the courthouse in her idling Chevy, Canon at the ready. It wasn't hard to mistake the “bitch in a bob” when she left the courthouse, blonde hair cropped to the chin in a severe style Fran found rather striking. The woman was dressed in a snappy red suit and stilettos, and she held herself like the head bitch in charge of the entire world. Fran snapped a few pictures, watched Marla step into a new black BMW, and took down her license plate info. Fran followed her home, jotting down her address for future use. Back in her office apartment, Fran developed the photos and tacked them up on her corkboard. She studied Marla's face, committing it to memory. There was a certain sharp beauty to her that Fran couldn't deny, and she found herself intrigued by the other woman.

She trailed Marla for a few days, mostly watching her go into work and to various care facilities to visit her wards. As far as Fran had gathered, both from the man who hired her and through her detective work, Marla work with a doctor to locate old people in need of assistance. Then she would visit court, declaring this elderly person to be incompetent with the backing of the doctor, and leave with a legal guardianship in hand, making her the sole caretaker of the person and all of their belongings. Fran tailed Marla to houses she was putting up for sale, saw her selling off cars, heading into banks with safety deposit keys. It seemed like a decent racket to Fran. Sure, maybe some of these people didn't want to be taken to a nursing home. Fran hadn't met any of them, but she was sure some of them prized their independence. Who wouldn't? But maybe Marla Grayson knew best. She worked with doctors after all. Maybe she was doing these people a favor. But then, what about people like her client, a man who was being kept away from his mother? Maybe there was more to it, thought Fran. Maybe he upset his mother, maybe she was fragile. He seemed like kind of a dick. Besides, it wasn't as if Fran's job was the most moralistic. She nosed into people's business for a living. Who was she to judge a woman trying to make her way in the world?

Fran met with her client a week after accepting the job. She presented him with her evidence - Marla's comings and goings, a few court documents she'd been able to drum up, photos of Marla's house and car. As she laid the evidence out in front of the man, she felt increasingly guilty. Why did he want to know about this woman? What was he going to do? It seemed like more than just being worried for his mother. He was angry, seething. 

“This is her home?” the man asked, scouring a photo of Marla's admittedly very nice house with an eerie smile. 

“Yeah, 245 Liberty Drive,” Fran said hesitantly.

“And this is her car?” he asked, pointing to a photo of Marla's very cushy BMW. Fran nodded. She was starting to question whether she should be giving this man this information. Something in her stomach sank thinking about what he might do to Marla. Maybe she'd become rather fond of her over the past week. Maybe it was because she admittedly found Marla attractive. She just had to admire her strength, the way she'd made a success of herself. As a business owner herself, Fran could appreciate how Marla made her money. Who was she to fuck with that?

The man thanked her and left, the manila envelope of evidence in his hand. Fran's stomach sank.

She decided not to stop following Marla. She didn't have a current gig and she found herself worrying about the other woman, no matter how she tried to divert her attention. So she tailed her still. It was a Thursday, and Fran was staked out on the street outside the courthouse, watching cautiously as Marla made her way down the steps, graceful despite her needlepoint stilettos. That was not a talent Fran had; instead she preferred sneakers at all times. But it was a talent she could appreciate.

A man approached Marla, and Fran knew him immediately to be her client. He said something to Marla, and Fran saw her seize up in fear. At that point, Fran was out of her car, standing beside it as she watched the confrontation go down, at the ready. Ready for what, she wasn't sure, just that she felt adrenaline coursing through her veins and had to do something about it. The man and Marla were having a heated conversation now, and the man lunged towards Marla, seizing her by the neck and putting her in a headlock. Fran took off, running across the street and yelling, “Hey!” startling the man, who looked up but didn't relent in the hold he had on Marla. “Let her go!” Fran yelled.

“Aren't you the P.I.?” said the man, but Fran was within arms-reach of him. She swept a leg up and in between his legs. The man let go of Marla and fell to the ground, holding his crotch. 

“You bitch!” he yelped. After a few moments of writhing, he gingerly got up, still holding his privates, and limped off.

“Are you OK?” Fran asked Marla, tentatively touching her arm. The woman shook her head, bob haircut dancing around her cheeks. She gingerly felt at her neck, testing for bruising.

“I am now,” said Marla.

Fran stuck her hand out. “Fran Gonzalez.” She wasn't sure why she said Fran. She usually went by Frankie with her few friends. She felt herself wanting to impress Marla with her professionalism, and the name Fran seemed to get that message across better. Besides, it was what her mother called her. She said Frankie was a boy's name.

The other woman took it. “Marla Grayson,” she said, shaking Fran's hand. “Thanks for saving me.”

“Do you often get accosted by men on the streets?”

“It happens more than you'd think. Maybe I should keep someone like you around.” Fran could tell that Marla was regarding her, looking her up and down and taking stock. “Why did that man call you 'the P.I.?'”

“I'm a private investigator. I guess I've worked with that man before, or maybe trailed him. Not sure,” Fran lied. 

“A detective, huh? You didn't help him track me down, did you?” Marla asked with a teasing smile, and Fran blushed from guilt – if Marla noticed, she didn't react. In fact, she was quiet for a second, thinking. After a beat, she said, “Maybe you should stop by my office some time. I may have some work for you.” She took her purse off her shoulder and rifled through it, finally producing a business card. “Any free time you have, just swing by and we'll talk.”

“Thanks,” said Fran. “I'll do that.” She wasn't sure if she would, but she would definitely think about it.

And she did. All weekend she considered the ivory card, flipping it in her hands and tracing the gold embossed name on the front. “Marla Grayson.” By Sunday, she had decided to visit.

By Monday, she wasn't so sure. She was parked outside of Marla's office building, debating whether or not to go in. Pro: she got to see Marla again, and hear what she had to say. Con: did she really want to get messed up in whatever grift this woman had going on? Ultimately, she decided to go in, realizing that she could just hear Marla out and say “no” if she wasn't interested.

The office was pristine, all white with black furniture, and filled with light. Marla checked in with the secretary, who buzzed Marla and told her a Fran Gonzalez was there to see her. Soon, Fran found herself being ushered down a hall, into an office where Marla sat, sharp bob pulled back into a half ponytail and her signature stilettos on her feet. Fran was a bit taken aback by her icy beauty up close, and she gulped before sticking her hand out for Marla to take once more.

“Fran! I'm glad you decided to stop by,” she said. 

“Of course,” said Fran. Marla gestured at a seat, and Fran took it, jiggling her leg nervously.

“I bet you're wondering what this crazy woman has asked you here for,” said Marla with a sweet smile.

“Only a little,” Fran said.

“Well, I have a job proposition for you. I need someone with your skills on my team. Someone to do research for me on potential clients, help me out. You'd be on my payroll, of course. And benefits, obviously benefits.”

Fran considered. It was an interesting proposition. She loved her work but never imagined it could be a legitimate, steady job at a real company. And with benefits... she hadn't seen a doctor in two years.

“What kind of work is it that you do?” Fran finally asked, despite knowing the answer. She wanted to hear it from Marla herself.

“I'm glad you asked,” Marla grinned. “I work as a legal guardian for elderly people who can no longer be counted on to take care of themselves. So people with memory loss, loss of mobility, the like. I have contacts with a few doctors across the city, they recommend me patients they think may need assistance, and I take their case up with the court, who then decide whether or not I should be appointed legal guardian. Usually they're people with no family, who can't count on anyone else. I make sure they can count on me. Most of the time, we unfortunately have to put them in homes, and at that point I become responsible for their belongings, their houses, their cars, which I usually have to sell off to pay for their ongoing care. So I oversee that as well. And I pay myself, obviously, and my staff, from that money.” Fran knew all this, but nodded along as Marla spoke. It sounded rather innocuous coming from the woman herself. It sounded like she was doing good. But Fran knew, some of these people still had family. She wondered how Marla justified that, but she wasn't going to ask.

“Where would I come in?” Fran finally asked.

“You'd help me with researching potential clients, and digging up records on the ones I have, and accompanying me on care facility visits, and to court. You saw what happened Friday. I need some protection sometimes. A few of my clients have family members who are a bit disgruntled that I've become the guardian of their parents, but oftentimes these family members aren't equipped to help their parents. I am. But that doesn't make them very happy. I could use back-up. I assume you have a gun permit?” Fran nodded. So, she gathered, she would be the heavy. She wasn't mad at the thought of protecting Marla. She had already done it once. “Excellent,” said Marla. “So, are you interested?”

Fran considered. It sounded like the work she was used to, but it was a job. Did she want a steady job? She liked making her own hours. Still, the idea of a steady paycheck, benefits, and, admittedly, getting to know Marla better... it was tempting.

“Sure, let's give it a shot,” said Fran. Marla gave her a megawatt smile.

The next day, Fran reported for duty at 9 a.m. sharp. She had her gun strapped to her side, under her jacket. 

“Today we're visiting a few clients at care homes,” said Marla in lieu of a greeting. “You're driving.” She tossed a set of keys at Fran, who caught them effortlessly. They started at Sunset Acres, where Marla asked Fran to come inside with her. Fran stood by dutifully as Marla visited with two clients, one of whom was completely passive and glassy-eyed, the other clearly pissed off at her situation.

“How are you today, Leslie?” Marla asked the woman.

“Ready to go home, Miss Grayson,” said Leslie in a terse voice. She was sitting in a chair in the rec room, crocheting, when they walked up to her. “Why you have me here, I can't imagine, but I want to go back home. I don't need to be here.”

“Leslie, you know you're having memory problems. You can't be trusted to take care of yourself anymore. Your doctor was very concerned.”

“I remember everything just fine, you bitch,” sniped Leslie. 

“Hey now,” said Fran, holding up a hand.

“It's fine, Fran. Leslie's just upset. Maybe we'll talk to the doctor and see about upping her sedatives. Would you like that, Leslie?”

“Fuck off.”

“OK then, where's the doctor?” Marla got up and Fran followed close behind as they went and found the attending physician. Fran watched on as they discussed Leslie's meds, struck with how easily Marla convinced him to put the older woman on stronger sedatives. 

“Bye, Leslie,” Marla waved at the woman as they left. Leslie flipped her the bird.

“What was her problem?” asked Fran in the car.

“Unfortunately, in addition to having upset family members, some of my wards aren't too thrilled about their new living situation. It's to be expected. They can't admit their own issues,” said Marla. “I have a hearing later today. Let's get lunch and you can drive me to the courthouse.”

And so it went. Fran spent her days chauffeuring Marla around, gun heavy at her side, though she never had to pull it. After about a week, she started leaving it in the glove compartment of Marla's car, left her holster at home. They went to care homes, the courthouse, properties Marla was selling. Fran found herself giving her opinions on wall paint, driving strange cars to sell at dealerships, putting “For Sale” signs in the ground. Once or twice, Marla had her head to the Hall of Records and pull information on potential clients. 

Fran was enjoying herself. She'd even found a new doctor, who she paid for with her sparkly new benefits package. She really liked spending the day with Marla, who would buy her fancy lunches at local hotspots almost every day. They got on just fine, and Fran started to collect bits of information about Marla – how she liked her coffee (black), what flavor vape cartridge she preferred (menthol), her favorite restaurants and her go-to meals (she loved sushi), the music she liked to listen to in the car (surprisingly, cheesy 80s songs). They talked, at first discussing nothing serious - the weather, their clients, work logistics - but over time opening up a bit more. There was a lot of time to talk in the car, and at lunch. Fran told her about dropping out of the police academy and starting her own detective agency after she realized it would take her years to reach detective status on the force. Marla told her about how she came to found her company, how she found a loophole to exploit when she was finding a care facility for her own mother, who she didn't seem to like much. Fran collected all this information and stored it away for a rainy day.

After a few months on the job, on a Wednesday, Marla asked Fran to sit in with her on a meeting with a client's lawyer. “I don't know how this will go down, but this client is an unhappy one. I don't expect her lawyer to be in an agreeable mood.” To make matters worse, when the lawyer entered the office, he was accompanied by a man. “The client's son,” Marla whispered to her. They all adjourned in Marla's office, the men seated across the desk from Marla, and Fran stood in front of the door. 

“Miss Grayson, this is highly irregular. The client wasn't even present at the hearing. It was held without her or her family's knowledge. She doesn't need a legal guardian, and if she did, why wouldn't it be her loving son?” The lawyer asked. 

“Mr. Talley,” Marla said. She sighed theatrically. Fran smiled a bit at that. “The doctor agreed, Mrs. Lin was no longer able to take care of herself. She had memory loss, loss of mobility. Her son would do nothing about it. The doctor was concerned. I had to be appointed guardian to take care of this poor woman.”

“Miss Grayson, you know as well as I that Mrs. Lin was fine on her own. Her son--”

“I wouldn't send her to a care facility because she didn't want to go to a care facility. She was taking care of herself just fine!” Yelled the son, interrupting his lawyer. 

“Mr. Lin, I understand your frustration but the court agreed. The doctor agreed. We're doing what's best for your mother.”

“So it doesn't matter what I think? How my mother feels?” Mr. Lin said. Fran could see a flush creeping up the back of his neck from where she stood behind him. “It only matters what this bitch thinks?”

“Sir, I'll ask you once to not use that term. Use it again and you're out of my office,” Marla said. Fran pushed herself away from the door she had her back pressed against, at attention.

“I'll call you a bitch if I want,” said Mr. Lin. “You fucking bitch!” With that, he lunged across the desk, hands poised to go for Marla's neck. Fran was there in a shot. She kicked the back of the man's left knee and he went down, knocking his chin on the desk on the way. Once on the ground, Fran pinned him, pulling his arms behind his back. 

“Hey!” she yelled. “Hey! Calm down, sir. Calm. Down!” Her knee was dug into his back now, but he still squirmed.

“Get off me, bitch!”

“Not until you calm down, Mr. Lin,” said Fran. She yanked on his arms a bit harder and he yelped but finally stilled. Once she was satisfied that he was calm, she removed her knee from his back, let go of his hands and stood up. Mr. Talley helped him up with a grunt.

“I think that's enough for the day,” said the lawyer. “Mr. Lin?”

Mr. Lin shot one more scathing look at Marla as he brushed his pants off, but he shrugged off Mr. Talley's hand and stalked out of the office anyway. Mr. Talley just offered them a careless shrug and followed.

“Are you OK?” Fran asked, rounding the desk to crouch in front of Marla. 

The other woman looked a bit shaken, but just nodded. “That was amazing,” she said.

“It was nothing. I saw him getting angry and I was ready for it,” Fran assured him, but Marla still looked at her in awe. They were rather close now, Fran crouched in front of Marla in her desk chair, hands flitting as if she were going to touch her boss. She decided against it, and tore her gaze from Marla, but not before noticing Marla lick her lips as she continued to stare at Fran's face.

Apparently Mr. Lin wasn't satisfied with the outcome of their meeting. Just two days later, Marla started getting calls. “Bitch,” said the man on the line, “I know where you live. I'm going to get you.” It was the same every time. Marla didn't seem to sweat it much, until the calls got more specific. “I know you live at 245 Liberty Drive,” said the voice on what must have been the fifteenth call that week. “I'm going to kill you.”

“You can't be alone with this going on,” said Fran. Marla was pacing her office while Fran sat. 

“I'll be fine. This isn't the first time this has happened.”

“But he knows where you live.”

“I'll just stay in one of the other houses for a while. No big deal,” said Marla, calmly, but Fran could tell she was nervous from the way she chewed her lip.

“I'll stay with you,” said Fran.

“No, you don't have to do that. I don't pay you for that,” said Marla, putting her hands up.

“It's fine. It's to be expected,” said Fran. Marla was silent, still pacing. How she could turn on a dime in those heels, Fran would never know. She was like a gazelle, a gazelle in stilettos.

“No. No, I can't ask you to give up your free time for me.”

“Marla, if you don't let me do it, I'm just going to park outside your house in my car anyway. Let me come inside. I can keep watch better that way.”

Marla gave a grunt of agreement. “Fine. You can stay. I guess I'd feel better that way. You're right.”

Fran went back to her dingy apartment to grab a bag. She and Marla had decided to meet and stay at one of their properties across town.

Marla was already there when Fran arrived. She had removed the sheets from the furniture and sat on the couch, nursing a glass of wine.

“Want some wine?” Marla greeted her. Fran shook her head.

“I need to be able to think clearly, you know,” Fran said with a small smile. 

Marla just shrugged. “Well, surely you can eat pizza if I order it? That won't impair your judgment, will it?”

Fran laughed. “No, I don't think it would.”

And so the night went, Fran and Marla eating pizza while Marla polished off a bottle of wine by herself. They exchanged stories and laughed into the night. Fran told Marla about her past jobs, laughing about her clients and their cheating spouses.

“Straight people,” said Marla, “are so messy.” She swilled her wine in her glass, not noticing that Fran had gone pink, her heart beating furiously. Was Marla... not straight?

Fran cleared her throat nervously. “Tell me about it,” she said. Marla looked up from her glass, a bit surprised, but she grinned at Fran. They had come to some sort of understanding about one another.

Eventually, Marla dozed off on the couch, wine drunk. Fran covered her with a blanket and went to the window, looking out on the street for anything suspicious. She thought over what Marla had said. Surely she was complaining about straight people as someone who wasn't straight, right? Why would she say that if she wasn't gay? Marla was definitely gay, thought Fran. It came as a shock, but it didn't change anything, right? She was still Marla's employee. Whatever she felt – and it was a confusing feeling – she couldn't act on it. She looked at Marla, her head dipping onto her shoulder, her hair falling into her face. She looked so peaceful when she slept, so unlike the always aware and on-point Marla of the daytime. Fran shook herself out of her trance, tearing her gaze away from her boss and back towards the street. She had to focus.

Eventually she returned to the couch, satisfied for now that no one was coming for them. She dozed off, leaning against the arm of the couch. Around 9 she woke, and immediately felt eyes on her. Her own blinked open slowly, looking up through her lashes to see Marla, still under her blanket, staring her down. They met gazes, and Marla quickly looked away. Fran wondered how long she'd been staring, but, having done her own not insignificant amount of staring the night before, decided not to mention it. 

“Shit, we didn't set an alarm,” Marla said, getting up from the couch. “We're late.”

“Well, you're the boss, so maybe you can excuse our tardiness,” said Fran with a grin.

Marla matched her smile with one of her own. “Let's get ready,” she said. If they got a few weird looks when they walked into work together, late, neither noticed.

Marla and Fran spent a few nights at that house, Fran keeping watch of her boss. Burnt out on pizza, Marla started making it a habit to visit the store after work and cook Fran homemade meals, something she hadn't really had in years. Fran couldn't help but feel domesticity taking reign of her life. She had to admit it was nice to come into a house after work with Marla, eat dinner with Marla, watch Marla doze off on the couch. They slept on the couch together almost every night, albeit at opposite ends. One morning Fran found Marla tipped over in the opposite direction, away from the arm of the couch, head laying in Fran's lap. She tucked a lock of hair behind Marla's ear, accidentally waking her. Marla sat up, startled at her position. Getting her bearings, she looked over at Fran, then smiled once she realized what had happened. Fran felt her face heat up. They didn't talk about it.

After a while the calls stopped and Marla moved back into her own home. Fran still wanted to stay over and keep an eye on the other woman, but Marla insisted she was fine, and promised to keep her phone on her at all times. Fran supposed that was acceptable, but still spent three nights camped out in her car outside Marla's. Eventually she accepted that nothing was going to happen and went back to her sad and empty apartment.

A month later, Marla was called into Dr. Amos's office. Fran accompanied her for the first time. Instead of waiting in the car, Marla asked her to come inside with her. “It's good for you to see how this part of the job works,” she said.

Dr. Amos seemed nice enough, her red hair cut short like Marla's. 

“I think I found someone for that vacancy at Sunset Acres,” said Dr. Amos once they were in her office. “A Michael Watts. Experiencing some minor memory problems, but he's a diabetic too, so if the memory loss gets worse, he might start forgetting his insulin. I think that's grounds enough to get him in a care facility.”

“Mr. Watts,” Marla murmured while she thumbed through his file, Fran looking over her shoulder a bit. “Looks like a good candidate.”

“There's just one problem: I haven't figured out whether he has children or not, or if they're involved,” said Dr. Amos.

“Not a problem. We can figure that out on our own,” said Marla, and Fran nodded.

They left and went directly to the Hall of Records, going inside together to look up information on Mr. Watts. There were a few Michael Watts registered with the city, so they combed through several files before finding the Mr. Watts Dr. Amos had spoken about. They located one son connected to him, Mr. Watts's name on the birth certificate of a Michael Watts Jr. 

“But how involved is he?” asked Marla. “We'll probably have to watch and see if he visits.”

And so she did. For the entire work week, Fran camped outside Mr. Watts's house, waiting for any visitors. He had none. 

“Family usually visits on a weekend,” Marla assured her. “Let's stake out then.”

Marla joined her on Saturday, camped out in Fran's beater car. Fran was embarrassed to have her boss in the car, but Marla had insisted it was less flashy than her own shiny BMW. At least she'd cleaned the soda cups and wrappers out before Marla set foot in the Chevy. 

Fran considered what they were doing, really – waiting around to see if a man had children who would be concerned if she and Marla swooped in and stole their father's entire life. Maybe it wasn't on the up-and-up. But, Fran reckoned, it was no different than what they had done to countless other elderly people. They were just checking to see if he was a lonely old man or not. Why get a conscience now?

Still, she wondered, did Marla ever feel guilty about this? Did she ever wonder how she would feel if someone did it to her own mother? Fran doubted she would care, having heard all about how Marla's mother was a bit of a sociopath, how she had monitored Marla's every move with an iron fist until she was in her mid-20s and cut ties with the woman. They didn't speak until it came time to shuffle the woman off into a home, which Marla did gratefully. Fran loved her own parents, but she could see why Marla was happy to be rid of a woman like that, a woman who never accepted that Marla had grown into an adult in her own right. To some Marla might seem heartless in her profession, and Fran supposed that might be true, that Marla's experience with her own mother had made her numb to the morality of her job. But Fran also understood, from her own experience, how hard it was to make your way in the world as a woman on her own. How much work it took to establish yourself in a business, especially one that was as successful as Marla's. Fran understood the core of Marla's ambition, and that was enough for her.

“Have you ever been caught in a stake out?” Marla asked to make conversation. Fran was looking through the lens of her Canon, watching Mr. Watts's house closely, but lowered the camera when Marla started talking.

“Once. Fucking guy busted my back window out with a hammer and I floored it. Got out of there before he could do any more damage.”

“A hammer?!” said Marla. “Have you always worked alone? Doesn't that make you scared?”

“Yeah, I mostly worked alone. Until now.” She shared a smile with Marla, who looked a bit bashful. “Never made me scared, though.”

“Yeah, you're pretty badass,” said Marla, and Fran chuckled.

She pulled her camera back up to her face, just in time to see Mr. Watts leave the house. He walked right into the road and Fran realized he was crossing over to their car.

“Shit,” she said. Marla's head jerked up to the window, and she saw exactly what Fran was seeing. 

“Is he coming over here?” Marla asked. The man was walking slowly, but determinedly, towards them. 

“Yep. Shit,” said Fran. Her hand went for the glove compartment, reaching to take her gun out, hoping to scare him away, but Marla stopped her hand, holding it delicately.

“Kiss me,” said Marla. “Quick!” Her hand looped behind Fran's neck and neither could think but soon their lips were pressed together. Fran's heart leapt into her throat, but she kissed back, some rational voice in her head telling her that Marla was doing it to give them an alibi for being outside Mr. Watts's house. She deepened the kiss quickly, hoping to make it look like they had been making out in her car for a while. Marla opened her mouth easily, accepting Fran's tongue as it flicked at her bottom lip. Her hands slid up to cradle Fran's jaw, and Fran's own hands slipped over to grab Marla's hips as best as she could. After a moment, they heard a rapping at the window. 

They broke away, and Fran looked up to meet the gaze of Mr. Watts. She rolled down her window.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“What are you doing outside of my house?”

“We were just on a date,” said Marla, leaning over Fran and gesturing vaguely to a restaurant down the block.

He frowned, and Fran said, “Sorry, we can leave.”

“Please do. You've been idling outside of my house for hours now, it seems,” said Mr. Watts, and he stood back from the car with a stern look on his face, shaking his head. Fran rolled the window back up and turned the key. The car rumbled to life and Fran met Marla's gaze, grinning. They both laughed as they drove away, Fran a bit nervously. What had just happened?

A week went by and they never spoke about their kiss. Fran felt a bit awkward around Marla, like a newborn colt on unsteady legs, but Marla remained calm and cool, as if nothing had happened. Fran would catch herself staring at her boss as they went about their day, staring from the driver's seat when she could spare a glance, staring across the lunch table, staring in the office while Marla worked. It was beginning to be a problem.

Soon after, they returned to Mr. Watts's house, ready to collect him and take him to Sunshine Acres.

Fran flanked Marla as they ascended Mr. Watts's porch, Marla giving a sharp rap to the door. Mr. Watts answered with a frown. Not a very friendly guy, Fran thought. 

“Can I help you?” He asked.

“Mr. Watts, hello,” said Marla, pulling a manila folder from her purse. She opened it up and showed it to the man. “My name is Marla Grayson, and I've been appointed your legal guardian.”

Mr. Watts laughed, an amused smile on his face for once. “That's absurd,” he said. “I'm my own legal guardian.”

“Well, you see, sir, Dr. Amos thinks otherwise, and she took her concern to court. They deemed you unable to care for yourself due to your memory loss and diabetes. I'm your legal guardian now, and I'm going to see to it you get to a care facility where they can keep a good eye on you.”

“Nonsense,” said Mr. Watts. He started to close the door in their faces, but Marla stuck one patent leather stiletto out, blocking it. 

“I don't think you understand, sir. I have the legal paperwork and everything. It's really in your best interest to come with me.”

“If I need a legal guardian, why was it decided without me present in court? Why isn't my son appointed guardian, if anything?” Mr. Watts said.

“The judge and Dr. Amos wanted to expedite your case because she was worried about you so much,” said Marla.

Mr. Watts stood in shock for a moment, flipping through the manila folder. He looked up and regarded Marla, then his gaze flicked to Fran. “Don't I know you two?”

“Of course not,” said Marla. Fran shook her head. 

“Yeah, I do know you. I caught you kissing in that old Chevy outside my house a few weeks ago,” he said. From her spot next to Marla, Fran could see the other woman blush, just a tinge of pink in her cheeks. Fran felt her own heart speed up at the mention of the kiss. "What kind of grift is this?"

“I think you're mistaken, Mr. Watts. That must be a symptom of your memory loss,” Marla said.

“That's not the problem. The problem is that you've been stalking me, staking out my house waiting to make your move. This is a concerted effort to rob me of my freedom,” he said, pushing on the door. Fran stepped out from behind Marla and asserted herself between her boss and Mr. Watts, pushing back on the door.

“Sir, you need to come with us,” said Fran. She pushed her way into the house, Marla hot on her tail. Mr. Watts tried to shove her, but Fran planted her feet and stayed strong. It wasn't that hard; Mr. Watts was a slight man, stooped over and weak.

“Let's pack a bag and then we'll head to your new care facility, Mr. Watts. You're going to Sunset Acres. You'll love it,” Marla said, reaching out a hand and setting it on his forearm.

He shook it off. “I'm not going anywhere with you dykes,” he said. Fran huffed and grabbed at his wrist, pulling it gently behind his back. He yelped.

“Sir, it'll be best if you just cooperate,” Fran said. She walked with him into the house. “Where's the bedroom?”

After looking for a moment, they found Mr. Watts's bedroom, located a duffel bag and started throwing clothes in it while he flitted around, complaining and trying to stop them. Eventually, and with much effort, they got him into Marla's car and drove him to Sunset Acres, listening to his complaints the whole way. Two men met them at the door to the care home, bulky men armed with a wheelchair. They guided him out of the car and into the chair with a firm hand, and wheeled him inside.

“I'll see you soon, Mr. Watts!” Marla yelled after him. She got back in the car and sighed.

“That was especially rough,” said Fran. "Has it ever been that bad before?”

“Most of the time,” said Marla, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Yeah, it's always rough.”

“Whew,” said Fran, and drove them back to the office. She dropped Marla off and headed back out to the Hall of Records, already at work on their next new client. 

Fran returned to the office late that day, hoping to go inside and drop her work off before heading home. She didn't expect anyone to be there, but the light was still on in Marla's office. Fran went inside.

“Hey, still hard at work?” She asked. She knew the answer – Marla was just sitting at her chair, looking out the window and puffing on her vape.

“Hey!” She said, turning around in her chair and surprised to find Fran standing there. “You caught me thinking.”

“Yeah? What are you thinking about?” Fran asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“Just a few important things,” said Marla. She stared at Fran, tapping her vape against her palm. “What are you doing tonight?” She finally asked.

“Nothing. Why? Do we have another stake out?”

“No. I was wondering if you wanted to go to dinner.”

“Oh... sure. Do we have a case to discuss?”

“No,” said Marla. “I just thought it'd be nice.” That floored Fran. Other than their kiss, they had been nothing but professional. And even the kiss could be construed as professional, since it helped them out of a sticky situation.

“OK,” Fran said. “Where do you want to go?” 

They found themselves at a nice Italian restaurant, sipping signature cocktails and sharing a plate of prosciutto wrapped asparagus spears. 

Since this wasn't a professional environment, Fran decided to go out on a limb and ask Marla the question she had been wondering since her first day on the job.

“Does this ever make you feel guilty, the work we do?”

Marla shook her head right away, her bob moving with it. “No. Never. Why do you ask?”

“Well, some of these people are so adamant about being fine, and their kids agree with them. What gives you the right to take them away?” Fran was surprised at her own candidness, but hoped Marla would answer the question.

“Listen, the decision may not have been hard for me to make, but for most people it's difficult to pull the trigger on putting their parents or grandparents into a home. I simply come in and make the decision for them. It's best for everyone. Like, Mr. Watts. We never saw his son visit. If he started forgetting to take his insulin and check his sugar, who would ever find out?” Marla sipped at her cocktail. “Besides, the money's good. Surely you've noticed that.”

Fran certainly had. She was making more money than she ever had as a P.I., and Marla clearly lived the good life. Fran had been in her house, had driven her car, saw the bespoke suits she wore effortlessly, the Louboutins. “Good point,” said Fran. “I didn't mean anything by it. I just wondered how you felt about it all.”

Marla waved her hand, sat her cocktail down. “It's fine. I get it. It seems like a heartless business from the outside. But surely you don't think poorly of me because of it?”

Fran shook her head emphatically. “No, of course not. I admire you a lot, actually.” She smiled shyly across the table. Marla met it with her own bashful smile, tucking her hair carefully behind her ear. 

They sat and talked for hours, about everything and nothing, polishing off cocktails and pasta. The waiter came around and told them it was last call, and, realizing that they'd spent three hours at dinner, they finally paid their bill and got up to leave. “Here, you drive,” Marla said, tossing her keys to Fran. “I'm too tipsy.”

Fran wasn't exactly sober herself, but she took the keys, shaking her head a bit to clear it. They weren't far from Marla's house, where Fran's car was parked. She could make it.

Fran drove slowly to Marla's house, hands at 10 and 2 and eyes locked on the road, going the exact speed limit and trying not to be distracted, as she always was, by Marla at her side. They safely reached her street and Fran swooped into her driveway, pulling up beside her own car and putting the BMW into park. They sat there for a moment, the car idling. “Well...” said Fran.

“Well?”

“That was fun. We should do it again.” Marla hummed, staring Fran down. Fran stared ahead, trying to avoid her heavy gaze. “Want to come inside?” Marla asked. Fran nodded, trying to look as if she wasn't as excited as she felt. 

At Marla's door, she rifled through her keys, trying to find the one to the front door. Fran shuffled close, so they were practically breathing the same air. Marla looked up to find her in her space and fumbled the keys, dropping them. 

“Shit,” she said. Fran bent down to grab them, and Marla soon found the key she needed, letting them into the house. “Wine?” she asked, and Fran nodded, following her into the kitchen.

They proceeded to get ridiculously drunk on a really nice cabernet, then a pinot noir. After they polished off the second bottle, Fran kicked off her shoes and pulled her legs up onto the couch. Marla mirrored her and they sat, facing each other. After a few prolonged moments of staring, Marla licked her lips. “Do you have anyone special at home?” 

“No. I haven't had a girlfriend in a year or two,” said Fran, watching realization dawn on Marla's face. How Marla hadn't grasped that she was gay yet, Fran couldn't imagine. She thought maybe that was understood by now, but she was happy the cat was officially out of the bag, thrilled to see the surprise on Marla's face. 

Her boss cleared her throat, finished the sip of wine left in her glass, then sat it back on the coffee table. Fran watched her throat bob as she gulped. “So,” Marla said, staring at her knees. “Why haven't you made a move yet?”

Fran was stunned. Words failed her. Who just comes out and says it like that? Quickly tamping down her shock, she swung her legs onto the ground and scooted closer to Marla. Gently, she grabbed her ankles, lifting Marla's legs and putting them on her own lap as she scooted even closer. With soft hands, she reached up and cupped Marla's jaw, hearing her boss take in a sharp breath as she leaned closer. Their lips came together softly and Fran felt Marla hum into her mouth. They slotted together smoothly, quickly falling into a slow and sensuous rhythm. Fran brushed her thumbs over Marla's cheeks and deepened the kiss. Marla let her, opening her mouth and meeting Fran's tongue with her own. Fran scooted ever closer, Marla now almost in her lap. Parting with a gasp, Marla stared deep into Fran's eyes as they panted into the minimal space between them. Marla stood up, then arranged herself back on Fran's lap, knees bracketing her hips. 

Their lips met again, frantically this time, wasting no time before their tongues were dancing together. Fran moaned and felt Marla shift in her lap, closer and closer. Her hands slid to Marla's backside and squeezed, causing the other woman to surge forward with a moan of her own. Fran's hands slid up Marla's sides, almost not believing that she was able to do this to her boss, of all people. She would be lying if she said she never thought about exactly this, but she never dreamed it would happen. Fran's hands came around to Marla's front and plucked impatiently at the bottom button of her shirt. Marla broke away with a wet noise and nodded her assent, eyelids heavy, before she dove back in. Fran began from the bottom, easing each button out of its hole until Marla sat with bra exposed, shirt gaping open in the front. Slowly, Fran slipped the shirt down Marla's arms and onto the floor. She felt hands at her waist, yanking her own shirt up, and broke the kiss long enough for Marla to pull it off. Panting like she'd just run a marathon, Marla gazed at Fran. “We should've done this months ago,” she groaned, hands falling to the cups of Fran's bra and slowly slipping her fingers inside. Fran moaned and grabbed Marla by the waist, pulling her ever closer into her orbit. "My thoughts exactly," she said. Their lips met again, and Marla continued to explore the swells under her bra, hips undulating in Fran's lap. Fran's own hands came up to flick at the clasp of Marla's bra. The other woman quickly retracted her hands, causing Fran to whine pitifully, and came behind her own back to unclasp her bra, dropping it to the floor next to her shirt. Fran broke away, took in all the new skin on display, hands and fingers exploring, eyes roving. She felt fingers tugging at her own bra clasp, saw Marla's eager eyes up close as she took what she wanted. Soon they were skin to skin, drawing a groan out of each woman. Fran stood a bit and pushed Marla until her back hit the couch, sliding on top of her and shivering at the feeling of their skin brushing together. She moved over Marla, writhing to feel more of that delicious skin contact. “Fran, please,” said Marla, and their lips came together again. 

Fran pulled back a bit, not going so far as to disconnect their lips, putting more weight on her knees and freeing her hands up to meet at the clasp of Marla's pants. She pushed her tongue into Marla's mouth, feeling the other woman shiver as it traced her teeth. Fran slipped the button from its hole, and slowly eased the zipper down, bit by bit. Breaking away, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of Marla's pants and slid them down, tossing them onto the floor and taking it all in, Marla's heaving chest and the pretty blush spotting her cheeks and chest, and the black lace of her panties. “You're gorgeous,” Fran said, taking herself by surprise. Fran was straddling her now, and Marla's fingers came up to pick at the fly of her pants. 

“Take these off,” she said, fingers tugging at her belt loops. Fran stood up, shucking off her pants quickly, then sitting back down in Marla's lap. She moaned at the feeling of their bare legs coming together, and pressed her lips to Marla's in a sloppy kiss. Her hands traced Marla's side, drawing a shiver from the other woman, then journeyed to her stomach, sliding down to cup her between her legs. Marla broke away from their kiss then with a moan, and Fran took the opportunity to slide beneath her underwear.

Later, they lay on the couch, Marla draped over Fran like a blanket. “Mmm, that was good,” Marla said. “We should do it again some time.”

“Any time,” Fran chuckled.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Psychedelic Furs' "Love My Way"


End file.
